


Rare Pair Roulette - Week Three (Pansy Parkinson x Tom Riddle)

by DragonsAndOtters, LeanaM, TheFairestOfTheRare



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fairest of the Rare, rare pair roulette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-11-30 01:07:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11452809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonsAndOtters/pseuds/DragonsAndOtters, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeanaM/pseuds/LeanaM, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFairestOfTheRare/pseuds/TheFairestOfTheRare
Summary: Every week at The Fairest of the Rare Facebook page, we play a little game we call Rare Pair Roulette!Our pairings are derived entirely by chance and the drabbles and one-shots here are written entirely from our members.





	1. Greatest Weakness

Part One

 

Steam filled the room, and Tom Riddle’s cauldron bubbled over angrily as magic began to pulse through the air. It filled his body, vibrating through his bones and crashing through his veins.   
  
Suddenly, the atmosphere was being sucked from the room, and all of the magic and fog and energy swirled together and formed a funnel atop the cauldron.  
  
Tom watched with wide eyes, the magic he was pushing through into the ancient ritual draining him quickly as a woman began to take shape in the eye of the storm in the cauldron.  
  
Long, porcelain legs formed as a toned torso grew above it, and pert breasts were visible as delicate arms gave way to slender fingers with a sharp red lacquer painted on the nails. Through the chaos of magic and steam, Tom couldn’t make out the shape of her face, but he watched as luscious black hair grew from the top of her head and fell like a dark curtain across her shoulders.  
  
The woman began to solidify, and the storm subsided into her skin, but Tom found that all he could do is blink at the remarkably beautiful thing he’d brought into his life prematurely.  
  
“What in the bloody fuck?”   
  
He nearly laughed at the sound of her harsh tone, and Tom Riddle didn’t laugh. But she was so fierce, so beautiful, he loved her before he even knew her name.   
  
“Who are you?” Tom asked, ignoring her outburst.  
  
The woman crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips, surveying him closely as she levitated still above the cauldron. “You don’t know?”  
  
He was still staring dumbly at her, his eyes caressing her skin from afar. Tom shook his head.   
  
She narrowed her eyes slowly as if trying to decide something. “Pansy, my name is Pansy.”  
  
“Pansy,” he responded softly, rolling the name around in his mouth with reverence.   
  
“Why am I here?”  
  
It was Tom’s turn to narrow his eyes at her. He wasn’t sure how much to tell her, though he wondered if it really mattered anyway. After a few moments of silence where she bobbed in the air and stared cautiously at the young man in front of her.   
  
Finally, he swallowed carefully. “It’s an old ritual… I wasn’t sure what would come from it.”  
  
“Aaaannnnnd?” Pansy prompted after he’d stopped speaking.   
  
He huffed, rolling his eyes at her. “Aaaand,” he responded in a mocking tone, “I wanted to know what my greatest weakness is, and to be honest, if it turned out to be a person, I would kill them.”  
  
Pansy’s jaw dropped. “That’s not possible…”  
  
One of Tom’s eyebrows arched questioningly as he watched her calculate the few options she had in her mind.   
  
Suddenly, a spark blossomed in her eyes. “I can give you one good reason not to kill me.”  
  
“I seriously doubt that.”  
  
“I’m from the future, and I can tell you how you were defeated.”  
  
It was Tom’s jaw that dropped this time, and without thinking, without giving his mind time to process the information she’d given him, he swirled his wand through the air and brought her down from the cauldron and safely to her feet on the ground.  
  
He took quick, deliberate steps toward the mystery woman and grabbed the sides of her face, crashing their mouths together in a life-changing, history-altering kiss.

 

Part Two

 

“Tell me again.”

Pansy sighed, and Tom’s fingers followed the rise and fall of her rib cage as they traced unconscious shapes across the hills and valleys of her flawless skin. 

“I’ve told you every detail I know at least five times now,” she replied as her nails scraped his scalp in a way that sent sparks down his spine. “I thought you were supposed to be brilliant or something, do you really need to hear it again?”

He set his jaw into the crook of her armpit, and her scent overtook his senses, strong and raw and feminine and  _her_. 

“Humor me,” he said.

Later, as she finished her story once more, she found they’d moved around each other effortlessly and without her even noticing. Her head rested against his stomach, her slender legs stretched up in the air and crossed at the ankles. Tom cradled her petite hand in his, long and strong ones, their fingers lacing and pulling apart in a rhythm she hadn’t realized she knew. 

“So we only met once?”

“Yup,” she said, popping the ‘p’ with her lips. 

“And we didn’t even speak?”

“Nope,” she said, popping the ‘p’ once more. 

Tom growled. “Would you stop that?”

Her eyes rolled upwards and locked with his. “No.”

Tom sighed, and her head bobbed up and down with the movement. “And I was ugly?”

“Utterly atrocious, really. Disgusting,” she responded bluntly.

“You really aren’t afraid of me at all are you?” Tom asked, and his tone danced between affronted and awed. 

Pansy shuffled on the bed, lifting herself up on her elbow that nestled against his side, her hair tickling his rib cage as she turned her ferocious eyes on him. “Should I be?”

“Yes,” Tom responded with a tone that said he’d roll his eyes if such a movement were worth his effort.

“Mmm,” Pansy hummed, dropping her elbow so that her hand trailed down the skin on his stomach and into the trail of dark hair usually hidden beneath perfectly ironed trousers. His cock hardened as her fingers wrapped around him confidently. “I don’t think so,” she said, before dipping her head and taking him into her mouth as he let out a frustrated growl that slipped into a moan before her tongue had finished its first swirl around his shaft. 


	2. Power

**Power**

* * *

 

 

The sound of knees cracking as they met the gravel.

Whimpers of begging, pleading filled the air.

The distinctive sound of a life being taken.

It was like music to Tom’s ears. Turning on his heels, facing her as she looked at him without expectation of anything. She didn't need praise, nor did she ask for it; she didn't need him to do anything, something he relished in.

Instead, she cleaned the end of her gun. Instead, her heels sliced through the stones that were falling into a river of blood. She walked away, sliding into the passenger side of the car, exactly where a Queen would sit.

* * *

 

_Biting. Scratching. Groaning._

  _They were so much more than good sex and leg shaking orgasms. She had craved a man like this under her nails; she had desired a man who would do that to her._

  _Pansy wasn't sure if it was how little he cared for her that made this all the more enjoyable. She had a suspicion it was, combined with this darkness in his eyes that never vanished._

  _When he thrust into her without a whisper, his eyes always looked the same as they did when he held the gun between someone's eyes._

  _I am going to end you. I want you to scream._

 

* * *

Words didn't fill the air as they drove into the night. Her porcelain, sharp cheekbones being lit by the street light that filled the car periodically.

He had never been expected to treat her in a way a man usually did. It had confused him, baffled him. She didn't need him any more than he needed her - which wasn't a lot. She never depended on him for help, she would find her own ways to aid herself.

Sex was the only thing between them that felt needed. It was the only contract they formed, and the odd brief touches that came with it.

Murder. That was a different game altogether. Their victims handpicked and random; reckless, yet planned. He had never felt more in control than when he killed the blond man who had attempted to touch her. Stripping him of what made him a man before looking into his eyes and warning him, in that last second, that what is _his,_ was _his._

Tom wished he had seen the glint in her eye at his words, he expected it would have felt what he assumed others would call love. It wasn't love between them. No. It was power, and thankfully she had never attempted to take any of it from him.

Thankfully.

* * *

_It had been accidental; them meeting._

  _Sambuca on her breath, tequila next meeting her lips and his eyes staring down at her as if she was intruding on his evening. She probably was, but she didn't give a fuck._

  _If he had come over and said such words to her, she would have told him to suck a cock and that he didn't own the bar._

  _He did own the bar._

 _She had intruded on his night._  

_And as Pansy had her thong ripped from her thighs, her nails clamped around the bathroom stall wall, her alcoholic lips mixing with his - she laughed that she had interrupted his night._

  _Pansy adored that._

 _Pansy adored him, but not in a Clinton’s card way. Pansy adored him in a way that mixed respect and lust, it wouldn't be love, she wasn't sure her twisted, darkened heart allowed such mediocre things._  

_Power. Now that was something that she could feel. It was a part of her, vibrating through her veins. Power, it was what brought her to her knees before him, her mouth doing the very thing her mind had wanted to use as an insult._

_Power. It was what had brought him to his knees, and her eyes to see stars._

* * *

Tom hadn't questioned moving her in. He hadn't thought it odd when she sat at their breakfast table that they had bought from Ikea.

He hadn't had a _family home_ to compare this to, and it felt like what would be expected - not that _either_ of them wanted _expected_. She hadn't had a good childhood, rules after rules followed with propriety and dictation.

It was why she had drank every night that week. The home she returned to was what made her liver almost crumble and her moans to fill the bathroom of his bar.

The others, the _Death Eaters_ as she called them, respected her and for a while, he hadn't questioned it. It hadn't crossed his mind that it wasn't him at the top of the chain, but them both.

The dynamic… _irritated him._ He had brought her to her standing, he had made her who she was… he had given her the power.

Tom had helped her to break ties with those who drowned her. Tom had helped her end the lives of who created her - setting them both free, and adorning them in money that felt owed.

* * *

_He fucked her hard that night._

_For no reason. His annoyance was clear, the bruises on her hips were her evidence and the hardness in his eyes made her near lose her breath._

  _Something had bothered him. A part of her felt compelled to ask, another didn't give a shit._

  _She did care about him. She didn't care enough to fade his anger at being ‘caring’._

  _Tom didn't kiss her like he didn't care either, he kissed her like she was his - his to have and hold. His fingers clamped around her hip bones as if he wanted to yank the flesh from her but also wanted her to remain as perfect as she was._

  _It was a confusing, erotic mess._

  _Pansy wasn't one to question it when her inner coil snapped and pleasure travelled to every nerve ending in her body._

  _She didn't question it because it wasn't in her prerogative to question anymore._

  _Sex was sex. Murder was murder._

 

* * *

‘Do I need her, or do I want her?’

‘Does she make me stronger, or make me weaker?’

Tom watched her as the black stiletto heel stomped against the face before them. It was a face that had bugged him; a face that had questioned them.

The words of the small, pathetic man rang strong and true. It had cut the meeting short, building tension that hadn't been orchestrated by them. She had launched like a protective snake, coiling her powers and inflicting damage without little question. When her heel, like a fang, pierced through his neck, she didn't shudder at the ghastly sight.

Her face read that what had happened, needed to be done.

Tom saw her come towards him, hips swaying and thighs exposed as her dress had risen up her delightful legs. Her eyes were filled with stone and her face covered in speckles of blood.

“Whatever I feel for you, it doesn't have a label. I don't want flowers on Valentines, I don't want a fucking ring. You want out? I'll go. But I'm not suckling at your power, I have my own,” her eyes looking over her shoulder before making contact with his, as though proving her point.

Her heels rang through the room, the sound of her palm slamming against the doors, exiting for what he expected would be a shower.

If he felt anything, it could be called love. It didn't have the same connotations, nor could it be wrapped up in a simple poem like the kind you might find in occasion cards.

It was something entirely different. Unexplainable.

He felt it though. He felt it in his chest, and it powered his feet to follow.

* * *

_“You make me weak.”_

  _Her back slammed into the mattress. Droplets of shower water running down her skin as her eyes stared into his._

  _His fingers on her skin were made of electric, and she felt pressure running through her chest._

  _“You, have ruined me.”_

  _Her mouth contorted, words mixing at the back with a scream that was unwilling to escape._

  _“I can't have that.”_

  _His voice was all she was clinging onto as the world shifted from view, the eyes that she could have lost herself in was all that she could see now._

  _I am going to end you. I am going to make you scream._

  _That was what his eyes screamed, the pressure rising in her throat and chest to a shattering point - until it did._

  _One of those statements was true._

_One of these he accomplished._

* * *

 

Bruises around her throat.

Empty eyes.

Perfect cheekbones.

That was what stared back at him. His chest felt tight, horrid and uncomfortable. He hadn't expected to feel so… _odd._ Tom braced for a second, waiting for that feeling where he knew he had done the right thing.

It didn't come.

A single droplet of water fell from her neck to her cheekbone travelling down between the valley of her breasts and gone forever, like her life.

He had ended her.

He wanted to bring her back.

His _Queen, his…_ love?

Tom felt a sob meet his throat and he felt so human, so average. Their years flashed through his mind; the murders, the robberies... the power. The screams as he took her against walls, windows and showers. The moans as she got on her knees for him in cars, bathrooms and video conferences.

Pansy had been perfect. Tom had ruined perfection.


	3. Match Made In Hell

Tom heard the tinkling of the bell above the shop door, carefully closed his book and placed it behind the counter before looking up. A cloaked, hooded figure stood in the dim light, slowly turning around as if taking in every detail. His face broke into his most charming smile and he straightened up a little more. “May I help you?”

Two elegant hands pushed down the hood and revealed a pale, pointed face with snub nose, dark eyes and bobbed, black hair. Cherry-red lips curved into a thin smile. Tom swallowed, slightly uncomfortable under the steady gaze that seemed to see right through him. She didn't respond. Tom squared his shoulders and doubled the charm, repeating his earlier question. “May I help you?”

The woman gave him one more piercing look, then waved a dismissive hand. “I’m just looking around for now, thank you.” She turned away and started examining a display of cursed jewelry.

Tom felt strangely irritated by her dismissal. He came around the counter and joined her at the display. “Are you looking for anything in particular? A birthday gift, perhaps?” He made an effort to look beguiling and interested, but the cool, assessing gaze that met his was clearly not fooled. The woman straightened up abruptly and walked over to the counter, where she stood tapping her foot impatiently until he came around and faced her again. This time, his smile was a little more strained. “How may I be...”

“I wish to sell some jewelry,” she cut in, placing a velvet purse on the counter and opening it with deft movements. “Make me an offer.” She rolled the contents out on the counter with a grand sweeping gesture, two diamond bracelets and a ruby necklace shining up at Tom in the dim light. He cast a  _Lumos_ to examine them closer,blinking against the sudden radiance of the stones and reached out a hand to touch them.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” The woman’s voice cut through the silence.

Tom looked up, his eyebrows raised.

“How long have you been working here?”

The sneer in her voice irritated Tom, but he maintained his charming smile and tried to hide his annoyance. The amused glint in her dark eyes told him he hadn’t quite succeeded. “Five years,” he answered, retracting his hand and whisking out a pair of dragon hide gloves in one smooth move. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before, Miss. I’m sure I’d have remembered.” He flickered his eyelashes at her, but his attempt at ingratiating himself with her seemed to backfire. Women didn’t usually burst out laughing when he gave them that look.

“And you didn’t bother asking if these were cursed before trying to touch them? I’m surprised you still have all your limbs.”

Tom could feel his cheeks heat up. That had been a mistake. A stupid mistake. And, upon closer inspection, he could feel the faint, dark pulse of a curse surrounding one of the diamonds in each bracelet. Damn that woman. “Do you know which curse?” he asked.

“Don’t you?”

Tom ground his teeth. This woman was getting to him in the worst possible way. “If it’s no more than a simple Fidelity Curse I don’t see it adding much value,” he murmured in a disparaging tone.

She laughed again. That laugh was beginning to grate on his nerves.

“I can offer you 200 Galleons for the set.” He saw the flash of displeasure in her eyes and couldn’t help the smug little smile that crept onto his face. “Honesty, we have many such bracelets and they are not in high demand. The ruby necklace is a fine piece, but rubies are not particularly the gem of choice for our clientele.” He shrugged and put on a sympathetic face. “I’m sorry I cannot offer you more.” He gave her a once-over, intending to let the disdain sip through his gaze as his eyes flicked from her face over her clothes to her shoes and back up, but he couldn’t find any sign of the usual impoverished Pureblood pretending that everything was fine even though the vaults were running empty. No, her cloak was of the finest wool, a beautiful Midnight Black turning to Slytherin green depending on the light, a perfect teardrop diamond necklace around her neck, her dragon hide boots shone in the dim shop light and the lace cuffs that poked out from under her cloak were of the best quality, no mending in sight. This woman was not desperate to sell family jewels just to keep her style of living.

She had pursed her lips in a smirk that almost made her look attractive while she let him assess her, but she didn’t speak. She only cocked her head a little to the side, as if listening for something, and a moment later, Tom heard what she had noticed before him: the footsteps of Mr. Burke coming down the stairs. Her gaze fixed on the door behind him.

He bristled again. She was ignoring him, as if he was of no consequence. If he ever found out her name, she’d regret crossing paths with him…

Mr. Burke waddled into the shop, his beady eyes studying the customer and Tom’s tense shoulders. Before he could address either of them, however, the woman spoke again.

“I’m afraid I shall have to take my goods elsewhere. I will suffer insolence if i must but I will not be insulted by such an offer.” She moved to gather the jewelry into the velvet purse again, but Mr. Burke stayed her hand. “Tom, what did you offer the lady for these gems? I’m sure we can come to an understanding, Miss…” He let the words trail off, but she didn’t offer her name.

“Only 200 Galleons. It’s an insult, Mr. Burke. If this is the best you can offer…” She shook her head in dismay. “I honestly think your little assistant here has no clue what he is doing. And I will not do business with idiots.” She yanked her arm free and gathered the bracelets and necklace into the purse.

“5000 Galleons.”

Tom’s mouth dropped open in surprise at the offer his boss made. He hadn’t even looked closely at the jewels.

The woman sent him a triumphant smile, then turned to Mr. Burke. “Much better. How about 6500? You know you can easily get twice that for that set of bracelets, but I need to get them off my hands.”

Mr. Burke only hesitated for one brief moment. Then he nodded, sending Tom to the back with an impatient wave of his hand. “Go check out the stock, Tom, I’ll finish this transaction with the lady.”

 

* * *

 

Tom was fuming. Fuming! That bloody woman had ruined his entire day. She had destroyed his credibility with Burke, and she had gotten the better of him in every single part of their conversation. Maddening. Infuriating. He’d never forget that grating laugh. He’d find her and teach her the consequences of …

“You should learn to pay attention to details.”

He stiffened and turned, wand in hand, to face the figure in the shadows. He’d not seen her when he passed that spot, but he recognised that voice immediately. In two steps he stood in front of her, almost nose to nose, his wand pressing in her throat.

“What do you want? Haven’t you done enough?”

She laughed again. “Oh, my Lord,” she said, shaking her head, “How did you ever get those idiots to follow you the first time around? You’re so easy to rile up.”

Tom stepped back a little, lowering his wand to his side. His eyes narrowed as he studied her. She had called him Lord, but he wasn’t sure if she was using the Muggle expression or referring to his alter ego. But that was a name he only used with his closest friends, the name only a select few knew. She was not one of them. Unless someone had blabbed. He ground his teeth together.

Her hand reached out and cupped his jaw, her thumb stroking his cheekbones and then his lips. “I didn’t expect you to be so handsome,” she murmured. “You don’t look like old Snakeface at all. Let’s keep it this way, this time round, shall we?” Her mouth curved into a sinful smile. “Hmm, I can work with this.”

“What do you want?” he repeated, channeling his confusion into anger. His blue eyes flickered red for a moment.

She drew in a sharp breath. Then, without warning, she pressed her lips onto his, nibbling, tasting, a little tentative, but when he didn’t push her away, with more confidence. Her tongue slipped between his lips and sent sparks of fire through his body. He balled his hands into fists, unwilling to give in completely. But, oh sweet Salazar, when she bit his lip and sucked away the pain, he couldn’t help groaning.

She broke the kiss and smiled again. “I can definitely work with this.”

“I still don’t know what you want.”

The woman tucked her arm into the crook of his elbow and began to walk towards Diagon Alley. “My name is Pansy Parkinson. I was there when you lost your final battle, and life hasn’t been very kind to me since then. So I travelled back in time to find you before you started doing the idiotic things that led to your downfall.” She shot him a sideways glance. “I fear I’m a little too late, but I couldn’t very well go back much further. It wouldn’t be proper. Now we’re about the same age. Much better.”

Tom drew in a slow, deep breath. The woman’s answer didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense at all. How could she know? What did she know? He stopped just before they reached Diagon Alley and turned towards her. “I have no idea what you are trying to imply, but…”

She placed a finger on his lips, then stood on tiptoes to bring her mouth close to his ear. Her breath ghosted along his cheek, sending goosebumps down his neck.

“I’m here to help you conquer the world, my Lord. And, believe me,” she stepped back again with a mischievous grin, “You will need help.”


	4. They Met Through a Letter

Her head was pounding. No, pounding wasn't quite the right word for it. Pansy Parkinson was certain there hadn't yet been a word strong enough to describe the revolting throbbing in her skull. It felt as if the entire Hogwarts Express had been stuffed inside her skull and cars were bashing up against each other. Her punishment for the night before, one she was unfortunately getting used to as more evenings than not were spent kicking back glasses of various dark liquors.

 

"Fuck me," Pansy grumbled, pulling herself slowly from her bed. "And fuck Malfoy and his stupid birthday." She had gone to fulfill her obligation as a friend, dreading the night for weeks as she knew too many people would see her there and start to whisper again. Eventually, she had agreed, vowing to only be there for an hour before slipping out the back door. Of course, not two minutes into the celebration Harry Fuckface Potter has waltzed in to be greeted by a bloody round of applause. The arse always pretended to hate it but she knew better.  _ The saviour of us all. _

 

Of all the people Pansy wanted to avoid it was the black-haired wizard who had dumped her for his precious Weasley slut not even three months ago. Another disastrous relationship to add to her list as life after Hogwarts had turned out to be a complete and utter mess.

 

She knew rationally she was a big part of the problem, her penchant for sneaking off to seedy Muggle pubs to flirt and drink the night away never helped already rocky relationships. Nor did her fits of anger that seemed to take over her senses always at the wrong moments. For all her understanding of her flaws, Pansy pushed away logic, hanging onto her more emotional thoughts that comforted her even in their chaos. She had been spinning out of control for so long it was no longer clear where she was headed. Sometimes she tried to figure it out, to put aside her stronger urges to seek out what was never good for her and other times she gave into bad behaviours easily.

 

Today, however, was not going to be one of those more clear, reflective days. She was pissed and in pain and ready to take it out on somebody. As much a Potter's face swam in her vision as the perfect candidate, there was an easier target who would accept her ranting and raving with a silent smirk.  _ Besides _ , she thought,  _ it's Draco's fault for inviting that arse to his party in the first place! _

As she kicked back a hangover cure, Pansy reached for her wand to spell her hair and makeup back into place and cast a quick Tempus charm to see half the day was already gone. She made up her mind to Floo over to Draco's obnoxiously large manor to give him a real piece of her mind.

She was in such a state that as she grabbed a handful of power from the pot by her fireplace, Pansy didn't notice how the power was not a glittery black but a signature shade of maroon. As she stepped out of the receiving fireplace to see not the familiar marble floor of Malfoy Manor but instead an old, wooden floor covered in dust, she, at last, realized there had been a mistake.

 

Harry Potter was up to his old tricks again, she realized once she looked back down to see traces of a deep red colour on her palm. Yet, some faint part of her felt an uncertainty that it really was her old lover, a thought she quickly shook away.

 

Stepping deeper into the dark sitting room, Pansy reached for her wand just in case, though she wasn't sure whether it was for protection in the off chance her suspicions were wrong or to hex Potter if she was right. He'd switched her Floo powder before with a custom blend George Weasley had created to surprise for a romantic evening. One that had ended with them both sweaty and sated before exploding into yet another argument spurred on by her own need to break the sweet moment between them.

 

Yet still, Harry stuck around her. It had been an almost charming thing about shagging the young hero. He was always so eager to keep things interesting and completely devoted to make things work between them, a trait she had twisted for her own pleasure at the time.

 

Of course now, months later with Harry using his special Floo powder again when she wanted nothing more than to leave the past behind memories was incredibly frustrating.

 

"Why can't you just send an owl like a normal person?" Pansy spit out the question as she stomped none too quietly further into the room, huffing and grumbling when there was no return answer. After nearly a minute of returned silence, she felt tension in her gut and a creeping feeling up her spine. She gripped her wand tighter, using the end to jab at the dusty end of the settee.

 

She made a show of moving none too quietly around the room, huffing loudly. "Harry? Listen, I don't know how you got into my flat again after I changed the wards but your little switch worked. I'm here in this…  _ disgusting _ place- which, I mean, really...where are we by the way?- so you might as well show yourself." Still, there was nothing but silence to greet her. Pansy's attempt to shove away her growing concern weakened as the quiet stretched on in the room.

 

"Harry? For fuck's sake, Potter, cut it out!"

 

Wand held in front of her, she darted quickly into the adjacent kitchen, only to see it as empty as the other room. The only thing not covered in a thick layer of dust was a black journal open on the table, the edges of the paper a darker colour from what looked like water spots. With the faint hope that Fuckface Soon-To-Get-Hexed Potter had left her a note, Pansy leaned over the table to look closer at the journal.

 

She couldn't even hold back the gasp when words began to form on the page. Thin black lines turned into letters that spelled out words that chilled Pansy. Intuitive knowing and pure fear mixed together in her gut as she read the short note, her eyes not daring to leave the page in case the dark wizard who had written them was standing near her. There was no way to prepare herself for what was written. Nothing to do as she heard and felt a whoosh of magic around her. No one to call for help as the words' meaning sank into her mind.

 

Never more in her life did she wish to see the green eyes of Harry Potter as the twisted reality of the dangerous situation she was in became more real.

 

* * *

 

_ My flower, _

 

_ I've been waiting for you and at last, you are here. Do make yourself comfortable, Pansy, for you won't be leaving anytime soon. How easy you were to catch after all...an old lover's trick to make you mine. _

 

_ Yours forever, _

 

_ Tom Riddle Jr. _

* * *

  
  



End file.
